Give Me Civet, or Give Me Death!
I spoke too soon about how easily I'm sailing through spring -- the hayfever is kicking my a** right now. The hubs keeps pushing nasal sprays, and I keep telling him no way. First of all, I like saline sprays, which we don't have right now, and I won't use nasal sprays if someone else has used them. I'm not interested in spraying some booger busting solution up my nose when I know YOU used the same sprayer two weeks ago when you had a cold sore on your lip, and a mucousy case of bronchitis. Ditto with the neti pot. Using your nasal spray or neti pot would be like wearing your dirty underwear. Hiding personal nasal sprays around here is a joke -- even the grown ups have no sense (except for me, of course). I'm not using nasal sprays, but I am using the Benadryl; only at night, though. Otherwise, I'm just honking into tissue and keeping indoors -- where the cats are right now because it's cold outside. So basically I'm miserable no matter where I go.
Despite the swollen nasal passages, I'm still able to smell stuff. Sometimes. It goes off and on like a bad light bulb, but when it's on, it's interesting. I'm still going through the things I received from Dan at AG. I just noticed that there's donkey dung in one of the packets. The words donkey dung are written in quotations, so maybe it's not authentic donkey dung, but something else that's just called donkey dung? Or maybe it really is what it says it is. I'm afraid to open the bag. Last time I did that (with the raunchy tobacco) I got zebra sh*t. Really, today, I'm over the outhouse smells. Give me civet, or give me death! (In this case, death would be preferred).
Things around here are beginning to feel . . . good. I still have moments where I miss the kids' presence something awful, but for the most part, the quiet soothes me. I am filled with peace when I imagine going for a walk completely unhindered, or riding my bike without first arranging babysitting schedules. Or thinking. Or sitting. Or using the bathroom without separation anxiety getting in the way. Or making dinners people will eat without a fuss. It feels nice, like I'm wearing clothes that suit me. I don't know that I'd be this put together if I didn't have my work to look forward to. One thing that's really pushed to the fore since they've all moved out is getting that studio. I'm about to walk down there and slip another note into the mail slot. I've looked at other spaces, and even been offered a space at the tea shop, but nothing else feels right like this spot I've been looking at for six months. It's THE place. Period. If I don't get it, I won't fall to pieces, but I will be very disappointed. And then I'll look for something else -- something that feels right.
Despite the swollen nasal passages, I'm still able to smell stuff. Sometimes. It goes off and on like a bad light bulb, but when it's on, it's interesting. I'm still going through the things I received from Dan at AG. I just noticed that there's donkey dung in one of the packets. The words donkey dung are written in quotations, so maybe it's not authentic donkey dung, but something else that's just called donkey dung? Or maybe it really is what it says it is. I'm afraid to open the bag. Last time I did that (with the raunchy tobacco) I got zebra sh*t. Really, today, I'm over the outhouse smells. Give me civet, or give me death! (In this case, death would be preferred).
Things around here are beginning to feel . . . good. I still have moments where I miss the kids' presence something awful, but for the most part, the quiet soothes me. I am filled with peace when I imagine going for a walk completely unhindered, or riding my bike without first arranging babysitting schedules. Or thinking. Or sitting. Or using the bathroom without separation anxiety getting in the way. Or making dinners people will eat without a fuss. It feels nice, like I'm wearing clothes that suit me. I don't know that I'd be this put together if I didn't have my work to look forward to. One thing that's really pushed to the fore since they've all moved out is getting that studio. I'm about to walk down there and slip another note into the mail slot. I've looked at other spaces, and even been offered a space at the tea shop, but nothing else feels right like this spot I've been looking at for six months. It's THE place. Period. If I don't get it, I won't fall to pieces, but I will be very disappointed. And then I'll look for something else -- something that feels right.
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